Postcards From Far Away
by hoshiko2kokoro
Summary: An important letter needs to be delivered.


_A/N:_ This story is best when you listen to Coldplay's "Postcards From Far Away", which is what this is named after.

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><p>We met in 2009. I was so young then. I know it wasn't long ago, but any time before I knew you was long ago. And I didn't feel quite the same. I never have since we met. But we met and you smiled at me as you startled me by dropping your duffle bag on the bed next to mine.<p>

You said hello and I was so stunned. Amazed, really. Okay, I was star struck. In that instant, that day I 2009, March I believe it was, I had met the most beautiful person I had ever seen. Who knew I'd have to join the military to do so.

We would do our drills and I could never keep up with you. I didn't mind. I rather enjoyed watching your back. The way you pumped your arms, breathed through your mouth, it shaping into an "O". How your shoulder blades pressed into each other, your muscles visible through your shirt. I think that was the only way I could make it through those blasted runs. I would trip a few times and the boys would laugh at me and the drill sergeant called me twinkle toes, and when I looked up you would be gone. And I would have to chase you.

Because of my constant stumbling of catching a view of your arse, your back, your eyes, your smile, I had earned that nickname and it stuck all through boot camp. Sometimes even you would call me twinkle toes. You were the only one I allowed to let that by. I know I yelled a lot and flustered, saying I hated hearing it, and hated you, but I didn't. How could I?

When the others joked and said I didn't belong in the American military because I was English and I told them I was an English-American citizen, and no one listened, you stepped in and laughed and said that I chose the winning side. And I laughed too, because I know you wanted me to and I should, rather than think you referred to a 200 year old war from long ago that I have never been bitter about.

When it came to shower, I would always go before you. Try to seem casual as I watched you step into the showers. I only looked when your back was turned. The few times you faced me with shampoo running down your face as you rinsed it off I caught glimpses of your penis. And I wanted that. All of you. And I was thankful for the showers as I imagined my tongue in your mouth, hands on your muscles, and hearing your heartbeat in my ear as I whispered my love for you.

One day you caught me staring, and I looked away. Another day you looked back when I fell and saw my desperate look to see if you had run ahead. By the end of that week you had brushed your hand against mine when we cleaned our guns, smiled at me, and bid me goodnight. I think that is when you knew. Was it? Or was it when you bent over that day in the showers and stayed down longer than needed? Or when you tripped a bit so that you fell behind in our runs and ran by my side?

I suppose by then it was foolish of us to hide it any longer. At least from each other. If anyone were to know we'd be sent packing. I could not go home, and neither could you. I often told you of the house that I never called home, and you would tell me of the long history of your proud military family. You can't go home until you had a medal. I just didn't want to go home.

And then you pulled me aside from the mess tent. You took me into the storage shed and kissed me and I kissed you knowing it was coming. That was why I closed my eyes and held you close. Because I knew you knew that I loved you and wanted you with all of my being. And as I stared into your eyes and finally, finally felt that skin against mine, I knew. Knew we were to be brothers in arms, and lovers under the sheets.

Life after that was amazing, wasn't it? By day it was drills and training. I took pride in knowing I shot a gun better than you. You never did get over that did you? Well, you always rubbed it in my face you could bench press more than me. Bloody git, you are.

In the afternoon we hung with all those blokes. The men of our company. They truly were heroes.

And at night, after the showers and the lights were turned off and we were no longer allowed to do anything other than sleep, we would sneak out and you would take me. Up against the wall. Over the crate of a box. And I called your name in heavy whispers and you told me you loved me and I promised we would get out of here alive.

I promised you, didn't I?

And we made love nightly as if we were on the verge of war. Forgetting we were already at war.

We were sent out to our assigned stations in the Middle East. I'm grateful we remained together with all of our friends. We spent two years there.

Two years that I am going to skip. It wasn't pleasant. Not at all. I find myself waking up in the night with shuddering gasps of the images there, remembering that it would come at night and you would hold me in my fitful sleep, and no one saw us. And then you promised me.

Promised me that when we were discharged, we would move to a state that allowed same-sex marriage. I was from California, and you from New York. Two states that did not allow it. It was a beautiful dream and I dreamt of it so many horrific nights, turned warm by your soothing assurance.

Did you do it too? Did you often dream of a life after all of this? When we could freely hold hands and not be worried that we would have it all stripped away and sent home as if we were traitors to the country we were fighting for? When I could have a ring that told the world I was taken by the man I thought the most beautiful in all.

And really, my opinion was more a fact than anything else. You are. After all the bloodshed we saw in that war, the horror of losing your friends and waking up in the day in fear you would die in ten minutes, I can honestly say that your smile and your laugh and your eyes and your being is the most beautiful in the world.

And one day, we heard it. Marriage in New York was legal for us. That night you took me where no eyes could see us, and you kissed me harder than ever. And you asked, and of course I said yes, and we counted down the days we could go home.

You died on August 8th of that year, my beloved. You turned to me, to tell me it was okay to come with the rest of the company, and someone shot you. I saw the soul of you leave and the ocean and sky of your eyes fade away as you fell. And I fell with you. Screaming and crying and begging for it not to be true. But it was and it still stands.

And my love, you know what happened a month later? Don't Ask Don't Tell was repealed. We could have come out. Told our company who we really were. Let them into our lives, instead of lying and having to hide our plump lips and fevered faces. We could have been together.

It's a two months from when you left my arms and took that love from me. I have written this letter, late as it is, to tell you that right now, I'm making a new promise. I have given my vows to you with my hand, my dearest, and I intend to keep that.

I will live out my life as it was to be, but with you always by my side. I will not be with another. I have no more love left to give someone. You have taken it with you, and I am happy you did. Because in those days of horror and pain, you were my light. And when it was taken, I couldn't imagine creating something new like that with another. Only you could ever understand what happened.

I've been shot in the foot. Lovely, isn't it? I thought it fitting. I have only a few days, and I didn't return home. California is still not the place for me. It is now here, in the beautiful scenery of upper New York, where you rest under this tree. You are with more heroes. Did I tell you your family is proud of you? They are.

I know you never got a medal while alive, but your family will always know.

And they know of us, dear. And they always knew you'd find happiness. They are just happy I was there when you turned and smiled and died.

I fear I am getting off topic. I wrote you this to know that I love you. I will love you until my dying breath. If I should wake in the night, remembering the war, I will calm myself at the thought of your arms around me. If I should see a happy couple and think of us, I will not be bitter. Rather, I will interchange the view to be an image in my mind of us. Old and happy. Senile and lovesick.

But I miss you. That's what I wanted to say.

I miss you.

My beautiful Alfred. I miss you. Why did you have to die? Why did you have to smile at me? Why did you have to join my company and change my life? Why did it have to happen?

I guess I'll know when we meet again. We're both not religious in any sense of the word, but I can only hope that there is something after our life here. That, perhaps, we can live in heaven together, or maybe be reborn and meet again.

I like that more.

Let's meet again, Alfred. Let's meet and date and spend our lives together. I would like that. And don't be late. You always are. I hope you're not younger than me again. I demand you still have blue eyes and blonde hair and wear glasses you hate and love the sky and the sea and life and we still have the same friends as before and that I am English and you my American lover. And this time, let's make it right. Let's marry.

Because when someone asks, now we can tell.

I love you, with all my heart. Forever more.

Arthur

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><p><em>Hoshiko2<em>'s cents: I haven't been feeling particularly happy, and it's at times like these I miss my late boyfriend, so I had to get this out. Sorry I killed off Alfred (again), but I always feel his dying hits me harder than Artie's passing.

On July 24, 2011, New York passed the Marriage Equality Act which allowed same-sex marriage in the state. Sadly, California has yet to join the bandwagon.

Two months later, on September 20, the "Don't Ask Don't Tell" policy that had been in place in the US military since 1993 had been repealed. Now homosexuals can openly serve in the military, without being discharged. Before that, they could have been, and senior military officers were not allowed to ask if a soldier were homosexual in the event of an interrogation.


End file.
